that could be her career? Travelling from luxury hotel to luxury hotel to be pampered and indulged in the hope that she would say something nice about it. How long would it take to get bored of that? She was more than willing to find out.
She wandered up the stairs to the large, high-ceilinged foyer. It would be the first impression of the hotel for all future guests and so it had to set the standard: light, spacious, with quality in every fitting. Would the people expected here later notice—or did they take such attention to detail for granted? It would be nice to be that jaded...
* * *
Yes. Nice was the word. Although she was a long, long way from jaded. Driven into Innsbruck, attentive service in all the shops and, best of all, the hotel driver stayed ready to collect her bags and whisk them back. If only she’d been buying something useful like fabric rather than over-priced, over-stuffed shiny clothes.
‘I could get used to this,’ Flora confided, watching her bags get loaded into the small hotel city car, ready to be delivered back to her room—their room—and hung up ready for her return. ‘I think I was always made to be part of the other half.’
‘It’s not the other half,’ Alex pointed out. ‘It’s the other one per cent and, I don’t know, I think it would do them good to carry their own bags some of the time.’
‘Don’t spoil my fairy tale. Expense accounts and my every whim taken care of? I feel like a Christmas Cinderella.’
‘And who am I? Buttons?’
He hadn’t cast himself as Prince Charming. Flora ignored the stab of disappointment and linked arms with him, just as she usually would. Act normal, remember? Alex gave a barely susceptible start before falling into step with her.
‘No,’ she said sweetly. ‘You are my fairy godmother. I can just see you in pink tulle.’
He spluttered a surprised bark of laughter and despite herself her heart lifted. They could get back on track even if they did have to share a room. As long as neither of them used that darned bathtub. It had been the first thing she had seen when she opened her eyes that morning, taunting her with its suggestion of decadence.
‘I don’t remember the fairy godmother having such a hard time convincing Cinders to try on clothes.’
‘That’s because she wasn’t making Cinders wear clothes that made her arse look huge, her bosom matronly and her hips look capable of bearing triplets. Ski clothes and curves do not mix. In fact, winter clothes and curves don’t mix.’ She had allowed Alex—or rather Alex’s firm—to buy her the thermal turtle neck and leggings, the waterproof padded trousers and jacket, the fleece neck warmer, hat and gloves but had felt the whole time like a tomboy toddler being forced into a frilly bridesmaid dress. At least she had talked him out of the hot pink and gone for a less garish turquoise and white look. But she was pretty sure she’d still look and feel like a child playing dress up.
At least she was fairly happy with the dresses she had bought, even the formal dress for the ball. Actually, if she was honest with herself, she was secretly delighted with it—although whether she’d actually have the courage to wear it in public was a whole other matter. The sales assistants had been enthusiastic but then again that was their job. Just look how gushing the saleswoman had been when she had tried on the Bavarian-barmaid-inspired bridesmaid dress for Minerva’s wedding. Even her father hadn’t been able to summon up a heartfelt compliment for that particular outfit.
A little part of her wished she hadn’t sent Alex away for what he rather insultingly called ‘a restorative coffee’ when she had started dress shopping, But it had been bad enough having him there assessing her while she tried on padded trousers. The thought of his eyes skimming over her in dress after dress was far too uncomfortable an image.
Innsbruck had no shortage of designer boutiques and stores but Flora had felt even more out of place in them than she had in the bustling board shops. It had been such a relief when she had stumbled on the vintage shop with floors and floors of second-hand and reproduction clothes. Usually she felt too self-conscious to wear anything that drew attention to herself—and with her height vintage always made a statement—but in this town of winter glamour it had been a choice between vintage inspired or designer glitz. No choice at all.
And it was a glamorous town. The old, medieval streets surrounded by snow-capped mountains gave Innsbruck a quaint, old-fashioned air but there was a cosmopolitan beat to the old Tyrolean town. People came here to shop at the Christmas markets and to enjoy the myriad winter sports aimed at all levels. There was a palpable sense of money, of entitlement, of health and vigour.
‘Look at them all.’ Flora stared down the main street at what seemed like a sea of glowing, youthful faces. ‘It’s like they’ve been ordered out of a catalogue. I’ve never seen so many gorgeous people.’
‘Even him?’ Alex indicated a man sitting in the window of a café, his sunglasses perched high on his unnaturally smooth face, his skin the colour of a ripened orange. Flora bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
‘Or her?’ He nudged her in the direction of a skeletally thin woman, swathed from neck to ankle in what Flora devoutly hoped were fake furs, incongruously bright yellow hair topping her wrinkled face.
‘Maybe not everyone,’ she conceded. ‘But most people seem so at home, like they belong.’ No one else bulged out of quilted jackets, or had hair flattened by their hats. The girls looked wholesomely winsome in thick jumpers and gilets, their hair cascading from underneath their knitted hats, their cheeks pink from the cold. The men were like Norse gods: tall, confident as they strode down the snow-filled medieval streets. Alex fitted the scene like the last piece of a jigsaw. Flora? She was the missing piece from a different jigsaw that had somehow got put in the wrong box.
‘What did I tell you, Flora? No one really belongs, they just act like they do. You just need to stand tall and look people in the eye.’
‘Not easy when everyone is wearing shades.’ It was a feeble joke and Alex just looked at her, concern in his eyes. She winced; somehow she had managed to provoke almost every response going in the last forty-eight hours. She made herself smile. See, joking.
‘We don’t have to be back at the hotel for a few hours yet, you’re respectably kitted out and I have even managed to clear my emails while you were dress hunting. What do you fancy doing?’
Flora pulled at her coat. ‘I should work. What if Camilla wants to see my ideas? All I have are a few online mood boards.’
‘That’s all she wants at this stage. I can promise you, she’ll change her mind a million times and in the end your first concept will be the winner.’
‘Then why drag me here for the week?’ Oh, no. He hadn’t forced her over here as some sort of intervention, had he? He could just imagine him on the phone to her mother, reassuring her that he had it all in hand. That he would put an end to this temping nonsense quick smart.
‘Not that I’m not grateful...’ she added unconvincingly. Just think, if he’d left her alone she could have been cosying up to the man on the train again tomorrow morning. Maybe she’d misjudged him and his grabby hands. He might just be plain-speaking and tactile. They could have told their kids and grandkids about how they’d met on an overcrowded commuter train a week before Christmas. Just like a film.
‘Flora, Camilla can snap her fingers and have the best at the touch of a button. It’s the story, the package that
